


The Pull

by charlotte123456789



Series: Harry Potter One-Shots [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, F/M, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Not Happy, Sad Ending, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotte123456789/pseuds/charlotte123456789
Summary: So many years of fighting the urge, ignoring the feeling deep down inside of him that something just wasn't quite right. But what was there left for him now?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Harry Potter One-Shots [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157993
Kudos: 4





	The Pull

Harry drifted through the undergrowth of the forest.

He knew it had to be around here somewhere; he could feel the urge, _the pull_ , dragging him towards the spot where he had dropped it 70 years ago.

He had resisted, _pushed against the pull_. Except what could he do now?

So many years of fighting the urge, ignoring the feeling deep down inside of him that something just _wasn’t_ _quite right._

But what was there left for him now?

He continued to wander through the forest, pushing branches out of his way and stumbling through the bushes. Long ago, he would have had his wand at the ready, terrified of being attacked from all sides. Acromantulas, violent Centaurs and giants all resided within; ready to ambush intruders at a moment’s notice.

Now, they fled from him, the power emanating from him showed others who the bigger predator was, a glaring sign that if they picked a fight with him, it would lead to terrible consequences for them.

No creature dared cross his path as he made his way into the clearing.

He gazed silently at the lake in front of him - an old wrinkled man stared back at him, no longer was the hair brown but a pale grey, the glasses on his face had been replaced by a bigger, chunkier pair, and he hunched over instead of standing tall with pride.

Then, for the first time in over 70 years, he dropped his glamour.

The reflection changed instantaneously - in the old man's place now stood his 18 year old self. Unchanged by the trials of time, like looking back at a photo.

He had no reason to keep the glamour on now, no reason to deny the deep seated feeling that something wasn’t right with his life and the yearning for more.

No more people left to stay for.

No Ginny. That had been expected - she was 89, her health had been deteriorating for years. The doctors all said that it was probably to be expected from having so much of her life force drained at such a young age. They had accepted it - what else was there to do? They both had enjoyed the last few years of her life surrounded by their family and friends.

He had still resisted the urge to come back to the forest where he now stood; afterall, he still had many family and friends.

Teddy, Lily, James, Albus, Rose, Hugo, Neville, Hermione. So many still surrounded him, why would he leave when he still had so much yet to do, so much yet to see? Weddings to go to, grandchildren to meet.

However, the _pull_ to leave and reclaim what was his, to accept his true self was strong. But his will to remain was stronger still.

Then came the funeral.

Everybody came, all their family members and friends from afar. Ginny had been loved by all and Harry even more so; all wanted to be there to support him in his _trying time_.

That was when they had struck.

Not even the children were spared.

It turned out that not even 70 years was enough to stop Voldemort's reign of terror - he still had underground supporters who had seen a chance to eliminate him once and for all.

It had been easy picking for them, the majority of the attendees near the front were old like he was supposed to be. Neville and Luna were among the first to fall, both had vision problems which not even magic could fix - they didn’t even see it coming. The others attending hadn’t had to live through times of battle, none had the honed reflexes nor the dueling expertise to put up a fight.

He hadn’t seen it coming.

Maybe in his mind he had begun to think maybe the glamour really _was_ the truth and he was just an old man too, leaving the trials of the past behind and looking into the future.

He still can’t remember clearly what had happened. One moment everything was fine, it was a sad affair but brightness could be found even in the darkest of times. But then, chaos had erupted, spells started shooting out of nowhere.

He thought he must have been hit with a Stunning spell, for the next thing he knew he had woken up, with bodies surrounding him; Lily, James and Albus all lay close to him. Their faces were forever frozen in death, terrified and tearful as they attempted to get to him - to _protect_ him.

Though he was still surrounded by his friends - he was surrounded by death.

With his whole life torn apart in one fell swoop, in his rage he had cast the first spell that had come to mind, one spell that would destroy everything in its path.

_Fiendfyre._

It had obliterated each and every thing that had been staring him in the face, _taunting him_ , dragging up all his old feelings of desperation, pain and anguish. All that he had left behind after the war - that he _thought_ he had left behind after the war.

He had burned them all before he had given in to the _pull_.

70 years was a long time fighting and he was tired.

His old family was gone, all burned to ashes in the _Fiendfyre_ he had cast.

No, now he was young again. Young and alone - just like when he was a child, his mother and father dead, left like a charity donation on a doorstep. Unwanted. Alone.

He stared at his reflection in the lake. Though he recognised himself in principle, he still felt like an outsider. Looking at what he was supposed to be, not who he actually was.

He felt old and alone. His family’s deaths were still fresh in his mind, his soul broken and crying out for aid. The man staring back at him looked dark and powerful with empty eyes. No heart left to break as it had long since been torn out and broken.

He backed away from the lake. He couldn’t remain here; he followed on through the forest, under the large yew trees, the wind whistling eerily through the higher branches, small beams of sunlight managing to filter through, casting strange shadows all around.

On and on he walked, through even more clearings, ignoring the rustling sounds surrounding him as animals fled before they could cross his path. The sunlight that had once been illuminating his way was now no more than a dim hue. If not for the urge directing him, he would have long since been lost within the forest, never to be seen again.

The sun had finally set when he reached the final clearing. The full moon shone clearly across the sky, no clouds to conceal its light.

It was a hauntingly beautiful scene.

In front of him stood what he had been _pulling_ away from for all these long years. A dark cloak masked the figure seemingly made of shadows, luring in all the light around it, no face to be seen beneath the hood.

“ _Death_.”

It had been years, 72 to be precise, since he had last seen him. Since he had met him at The Station. Whenever anybody asked, _pushed,_ for answers to what it had been like, _dead,_ he had always told them that he had met Dumbledore. Some rubbish that he spoke about the greater good.

He had _always_ lied.

He knew whom he had met and it _hadn’t_ been Dumbledore.

Death nodded at him. His hood billowing where the wind caught it, he knew it was time.

Harry gazed around him one last time.

He still felt so old, the years that had passed all pressing down onto him now. He _should_ be old, like Ginny, Neville and Hermione had been. They had all withered away while time stood still to torment him.

But he wasn’t. Instead, he stood as young as the day it had all begun.

Except this time, he hadn't won - his family was dead, his friends were dead, his _children_ were dead.

He was young and yet felt so old.

He was back where it had all begun, except this time, _this time,_ when the hooded figure stretched its hand out towards Harry, he went willingly with Death.


End file.
